Perceptual Distortions
by OwlishArgento
Summary: After a transfigured timeturner throws Hermione into the past, she fights to get back, to understand her reasons for being in the past. Hermione meets a few familiar characters on the way. One in particular: Barty Crouch Junior. Not a romance story.
1. Chapter 1

Perceptual Distortions 

A/N: A time-turner story with, hopefully, a difference. Hermione will be travelling into the past but this will not be a very sappy affair, thankfully. There may be a little romance but please don't hold me to that. It is semi-MWPP era. The other main character will be... Barty Crouch Jr. due to a lack of BCJ stories and the fact David Tennant is inspiring. It could get darker in later chapters (Actually, by could I mean it WILL get darker later) and may not be suitable for more... fluffy people. This is only the first chapter, the prologue of sorts, so please don't read it and run. Give me a chance to prove myself!

* * *

Hermione felt a certain inevitability when the first drops of rain fell from the heavy sky to land upon her black-clad figure. She felt, for once, glad of the Universe finally behaving in the way she wanted it to. Hermione couldn't remember feeling more awful, couldn't remember wanting to cry so much, than on the day of the funeral of her maternal grandmother, Katherine March, and the fact that the weather felt as miserable gave her a sense of satisfaction she couldn't have imagined feeling again.

It was comforting to know that other people felt as despondent as she did. The fact that the heavens opened and people, all over the country, would be muttering under their breaths gave her grandmother the perfect send off.

Katherine March was, by no means, born into the role of 'Granny Dearest'. Her hair, dyed an auburn, was well taken care of and free from the archetypal perm of the older generation; an unforgivable crime in the eyes of her peers. She refused to knit, drink enough tea to sink the Titanic and care about what _that new family next door_ were up to. In short, Katherine March was, first and foremost, a person and she quite liked it that way.

Katherine was not so much a woman as a force of nature, as her legendary battle scars would tell. Her daughter, Jane March, was a respectable woman who married a respectable man producing a very respectable family. A fight, over an issue long forgotten, tore the Grandmother from the newly formed Grangers and it was only a cancer scare that really brought the family back together.

As a child, Hermione would wander the intimidating bookshelves containing the marvels of Literature from across the world. For all of Katherine's crotchetiness, the old woman would have sacrificed her life to protect her books. That is not to say she preferred them to her family, no, she loved her family with every fibre of her aching heat but, nevertheless, her books were incredibly important to the life of the true eccentric.

Katherine had tried to disguise her happiness whenever Hermione would pick a book at random and read it. Not only read it but understand it completely, a feat deemed impossible by many of her gossiping contemporaries whom only saw a book as a way of impressing inquiring guests. Not even a woman of Katherine's acting skills could hide the fact that she was suitably impressed with the prodigal talent of her granddaughter's.

And so their relationship grew, based on the fact that being a bookworm is hereditary. (It just skips generations.) Katherine stood as a second guiding figure, someone Hermione could run to if she was in trouble. Hermione did genuinely love the woman and it broke her heart to leave her for Hogwarts every year.

Katherine was supportive from the moment Hermione discovered her true role in life. David Granger, Hermione's father, suggested that this was because Katherine had the heart of a true poet and was taken into the world of magic by her imagination. David and Jane were scientists, cool, logical, rational. The world of magic only existed in seeing a drill create a perfectly symmetrical hole in the tooth of their patient. Their more capricious thoughts had been fully squashed by entering one of the most competitive fields of medicine and embarking on a course of two point four life.

Hermione loved her parents but she couldn't always agree with them. She knew they loved her but couldn't understand her life, couldn't understand her world. A world of danger, of dragons, of death, of magic, of elves, of war. It was foreign to them and so they tried their single best to support Hermione's decisions regarding her world. Katherine, however, asked Hermione to recount her tales during their summers together. She didn't want to hear half-censored attempts to hide it, she wanted to _see _the life Hermione had chosen.

Hermione let her read the books Hermione herself had poured over. The entire "Hogwarts" section of Hermione's mobile library became beloved friends to Katherine and took the place of honour; beside her bed side table. Old transfiguration books, from first to seventh, became necessary reading in order to fully understand the world of her granddaughter's. Stories of Harry, of Ron, of Hogwarts, became the common currency for a cup of tea during the summer. Hermione hadn't told anything this detailed to her parents but her grandmother insisted in hearing it all. She wanted to live this life, she wanted to see it. She wasn't a witch, by any stretch of the imagination, but Hermione would have guessed that Katherine knew more about the Wizarding World than many students at Hogwarts.

But now she was gone.

It was not the Death Eaters who got her, nor was it an escaped troll. A dragon did not come during the night and a hoard of Dementors did not swoop. Katherine March was bested by time and by age. Her heart could not handle living any longer and so it stopped beating. Her hands became weak and soon she was stuck in bed, unable to move. The true fate of all the great eccentrics is a normal death.

Hermione thought it was fitting that those figures from the Wizarding World came to send her Grandmother off. Harry Potter, saviour and hero, stood beside Rubeus Hagrid, half-giant and dragon enthusiast. Remus Lupin, a werewolf, dropped a single rose into the coffin in memory. Weasleys and other friends of Hermione's, dressed in full wizard gear, stood solemnly above the grave. Finally, Hermione thought sadly, Katherine March would finally get to see the world she had craved to see.

"Goodbye, Granny" Hermione murmured, throwing a magically purpled rose on top of the casket.

* * *

The people attending the funeral went back to the Granger household to try to embark on the very Irish-influenced after-funeral party. Katherine had insisted on it during her final hours, in order to honour her own heritage as a daughter from Ireland. Instead of being sad about the passing of another person, the Irish would, instead, celebrate their life with copious amounts of alcohol and storytelling. A seemingly more productive way of honouring the dead than focusing on the fact they have left.

Hermione sat between Ron and Harry, each of whom had placed a comforting hand inside her own two. Her mother was telling a story about growing up with Katherine's liberal, independent influence. Jane was smiling, tears running down her face, but a smile plastered across it, nevertheless. Hermione couldn't help smile at the story, her heart aching for the woman who had left.

Everyone, it seemed, had a story to tell about the cantankerous Mrs March. Even Harry and Ron volunteered one about meeting the woman for the very first time. Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak so she sat and smiled instead. She excused herself from the party and went upstairs.

The room where Katherine had spent her last few weeks still screamed of the woman herself. Books lay haphazardly across the bedroom floor; _Hogwarts: The Reality _lay beside _Don Quixote_. _The Rise And Fall Of The Dark Arts _was covered by a collection of Oscar Wilde poems and plays. Her life was contained in the pages of tomes.

The room smelt like her grandmother, very assertive and supportive. Hermione was completely at loss to understand how the room smelt of assertion and support but she knew that it did. The window was open and so the room was cold. An abandoned treasure chest of jewellery sat on a dresser. Hermione gave a weak smile at the jewellery box, shaped like a Pirate's treasure chest, and opened it.

There was nothing of value, nor many things of taste. Plastic jewellery, dyed lurid colours of red and blues, sat upon antique necklaces. Hermione's favourite piece, a silver locket with an engraving of a sand glass, was sitting out of the chest and on top of a note.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_It's over. If you can read this now, then, I know that my life has finally come to a crashing end. This parchment is charmed, you see. I met a witch a long time ago and she gave me this necklace and this parchment to give to you whenever you were old enough to handle what lies ahead. I feel that, by age seventeen, you are more than capable of handling the future... or the past. _

_The locket is a time turner, Hermione, but I think you already knew that. It has been transfigured to look locket-esque but I can assure you that it still works. It has been preset and, I'm sorry to tell you than whenever this message vanishes, it will activate. It is necessary that you go back into the past and face your life. _

_I'm sorry for leaving you without telling you. I really do love you and I really do love my beautiful Jane. David is a brilliant man and I never stopped counting my lucky stars that Jane found him. I do love you all so much and I'm proud of you, ever so proud. _

_Accept my apologies and I want to wish you good luck. _

_Yours, in love, life and death,_

_Katherine March. _

"No!"


	2. Chapter 2

Perceptual Distortions

A/N: You guys have all been very supportive and very good at inspiring lazy good-for-nothings, like myself, to write a little bit more. Thanks to everyone for their reviews! I really appreciate any help anyone can give me as I'm just starting out and feeling my way around to see what works. Thank you all so much.

* * *

"Oh, are you ok?"

Hermione was curled in the foetal position with her knees tightly pulled to her stomach. Her bushy hair cushioned her head and she was still clutching the locket tightly. She had not fainted but preferred to keep her eyes closed in the unlikely event this was, in fact, a very horrible nightmare. It seemed safer, her mind soothed, to not see anything. She knew she had been lying there for a good fifteen minutes before anyone had stumbled onto her.

"Hello? Can you hear me? Do you need medical help?"

Hermione's eyes shot open and she sat up quickly, her hand slipping into her pocket and quickly whipping out her wand, she shot off blue sparks in the direction of the disturbance. Her eyes widened with fear as the source of the concerned, questioning voice walked over to her.

"Hey, you got me pretty good there."

A boy of around fifteen was peering down at her curiously, his hand covering his forehead. His hair was a sandy blonde, neatly styled and slightly smoking at the front where Hermione's quick sparks had caught it. Black-rimmed glasses framed his simple, blue eyes. He was wearing neat, black robes and peering down at her with a slightly quizzical expression, preparing to roll out of the way in the likely event she shot off more sparks at him.

Hermione blinked at him in confusion. He returned her look, still half-expecting her to jump at him.

"Oh, I'm... I'm sorry." Hermione stuttered after a moment. He relaxed immediately and smiled at her. She was rambling, in a daze. Her words were very slurred. "I was shocked. I didn't really know what I was doing."

"It's fine, really." He smiled warmly and offered her his hand. There was no trace of malice in his eyes, nor did his smile reveal anything less than sincerity. Hermione peered up at his bespeckled face and accepted his hand dazedly. He gave her a gentle tug to her feet.

"Now, we need to find someone to help you. I don't know if you are injured or anything but do you think you could walk with me to Professor Flitwick's office? It is literally just down the corridor. You can lean on me if you want... well, I'm not sure you'd particularly _want _to lean on me but you can if you need to. If you feel you can't walk any further, I can run to get someone. I'm pretty quick and I'd be back in a jiffy." Her companion gave a nervous laugh, watching Hermione anxiously as her eyes focused in on her surroundings. She was still dazed and clutching onto his arm tightly.

_Professor Flitwick?_

"Where am I?" Hermione barked, putting her hands on her head and falling to the floor. The boy was pulled down with her as she refused to let go of his arm when she crashed. "Where am I? Where am I? WHERE AM I?"

The urgency and hysteria in her voice grew. Her eyes grew wild as she pulled him closer. His smile vanished instantly.

"You are at Hogwarts." He stuttered, looking around him for help. Any ghost passing would do, a teacher would be better. A student, even, could help.

"Hogwarts? HOGWARTS?" Her voice rose in pitch, her eyes were wide and filled with frenzied tears. "HOW DID I GET HERE? WAS IT YOU? DID YOU DO THIS TO ME!"

Hermione broke down, sobbing and weakly punching the boy on the chest. Blaming him for everything made sense, somehow. She couldn't help but cry. "I don't want to be here... I didn't do anything wrong."

Her cries were loud and almost inhuman. He hoped against hope someone would come and rescue her. _Rescue him. _

Nervously, he glanced around for the hide or hair of another human being. Anyone would do really. His mouth twitched nervously as he placed his arms around the panic-stricken girl in a semblance to a comforting hug. He remembered his mother doing something similar for him whenever he got upset and he hoped against hope that this would be enough to stop her from hurting herself. He held her close and moved his arm up and down her back in a soothing gesture. He could feel her relax against his chest, her frantic cries becoming less intense.

"I'm Barty" He murmured. Hermione stopped crying, stopped breathing. Mistranslating her silence, Barty continued in the same quiet tone. "I don't think I introduced myself and, well, it felt wrong to be hugging you whilst you didn't know my name. Felt indecent or something. I just wanted to tell you that... I'm Barty. I already mentioned that but, you know, you were crying a lot and you may not have heard me properly. Barty. Me. Hello."

"Oh. Dear. God."

* * *

'_This isn't happening_' Hermione screwed up her eyes once more to embark on a policy of full-blown denial. She didn't travel back in time. She didn't arrive at Hogwarts during who knows when. And she definitely didn't speak to the younger version of Barty Crouch Junior. _Definitely didn't get hugged by that monster_.

The man, she knew, in four years time would be sent to prison for the torture of the parents of one of her closest friends. The man who, in five years time, will escape from Azkaban and be put under the Imperious curse by his crackpot father. The man who, in sixteen years time, will come to Hogwarts, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, kill his father, be directly responsible for the death of Cedric Diggory, the near-death of her best friend, Harry, and be, of course, responsible for the return of Lord Voldemort and the deaths of ever subsequent person killed in the name of ethnic cleansing. The man who fooled Dumbledore, who fooled the world, into believing he was a good man. The man who will receive the Kiss for his crimes and his loyalty to the darkest of Lords.

The man who, as a fifteen year old boy, threw his arms around a complete stranger and held her until she stopped crying.

"Are you awake?"

Tentatively, frightful of what she might see, Hermione opened her eyes slowly. A pair of electric blue eyes, framed by half-moon spectacles, peered curiously down at her. A face, the face she had been longing to see for the past two months, was staring at her with undisguised confusion. That long, crooked nose, that greying beard and hair. The unmistakable air of magic. Albus Dumbledore, dead in her time but living, breathing and frowning before her now.

"Professor!"

Hermione launched herself from her bed in the hospital wing and threw her arms tightly around the man she would regard as the greatest human being to ever live. He flinched slightly with the unexpected contact but Hermione didn't care. She had wanted to see Dumbledore again from the moment he had died.

"I've missed you, Professor Dumbledore, we all have. We can't go on without you. We don't know what to do to fight him"

"Have we met before, Miss?" Dumbledore was hesitant, unwilling to have much more physical contact with the girl who had just been carried up to the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore could see the tiredness, the hysteria, etched clearly into her dark brown eyes. She had travelled a while, it seemed.

"What year is it, Professor?" Hermione asked, finally releasing Dumbledore from the slightly-bone crushing hug. Dumbledore watched as the girl composed herself, ran a hand through her bushy brown hair and bit her bottom lip in anxiety.

"The year? It's 1977" Dumbledore watched as a numbness settled in around Hermione's face. The girl slid back onto the bed and stared into the air in front of her with disbelief written all over her face. "I assume from your reaction, Miss, that was not the news you were hoping for."

"It was 1996 when I left." Hermione whispered softly, tears welling up in her eyes. "I was at my grandmother's funeral, Professor. It was 1996 and I was at home."

"You are a long way from home, Miss."

"Hermione." She said without feeling, so numb she felt she had been hit by a freezing charm. _It didn't make sense. _"My name is Hermione Granger, born on September 19th, 1979. In two years, Professor Dumbledore, I will be born. How could she do this to me?"

"Whom, may I inquire?" Dumbledore took a seat on the bed beside her.

"My grandmother. She left me a locket and a note with a charm on it. I activated the charm by reading the note and I woke up here." Hermione stared at Dumbledore, dumfounded and seeking answers. The wizened wizard closed his eyes slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Miss Granger" Dumbledore hesitated as Hermione drew closer, staring at him as though his next words could reveal the solution to all of her problems. "Miss Granger, I do not claim to be an authority on time travel, nor to I claim to fully understand the problems from within your family. However, Miss Granger, I will help you as best as I can. You may stay at Hogwarts until we can discover a way of sending you back to your time. How old are you, Miss Granger?"

"I am seventeen, eighteen in a month." Hermione started but a look at Dumbledore's face silenced her. Fearfully, Hermione lifted a mirror from the beside table and dropped it in shock.

Hermione had gone to the hairdressers in frustration after her hair had caused her one too many problems and had the woman cut it and style it to a reasonable length and volume.

Her shorter hairstyle was gone and had been replaced by locks of bushy, brown hair.

Hermione gaped at the very surreal image of her fourteen year old self.


	3. Chapter 3

Perceptual Distortions

A/N: Hello and welcome to chapter three. I really am enjoying writingthis story and I really hope you are enjoying it nearly as half as I am. Now, I feel I need to justify myself about what I have done to Barty but you can read _that _note at the end of this chapter. Keep an open mind when reading it. There haven't been too many Barty-fics dealing with him at this age so this is me flying solo. Remember, evil isn't born. Evil is created. There is also a tiny but obvious David Tennant reference in this chapter. Kudos to those who can find it!

I'll hammer up another chapter soon so... Happy New Year!

* * *

"Hello. How are you feeling now?"

Hermione gasped and dropped the book she was holding. Professor Dumbledore had told her to wait in the hospital wing until they could come up with a more comfortable solution to her staying in the past for now. Dumbledore had left to owl someone he thought would help the situation and had left Hermione under the watchful eye of a much younger Madam Pomfrey.

Barty nervously walked over to her bed and picked up the dropped book. Hermione's eyes narrowed in instant dislike.

"Oh, I love this book. I find myself agreeing with Roberts about his theories on how the Ancient wizards really used the more agricultural Runes to predict how fertile the soil would be. I really thought he made some interesting points and didn't completely patronise the Ancient wizards like Traynor did. I felt myself ready to throw his book at the wall because of how little credit he gave to the intelligence of the Ancient Egyptian wizards. Bah, what did he say? Something about them acting as Gods so they could gain the trust of the local women? I can't remember... need to read it again. Really preferred Roberts, nevertheless. Hello, these are for you. I picked them myself... thought I'd cheer you up because you were really upset earlier. I'm sorry if I did anything to upset you. Here... they aren't much. Just... well they are transfigured weeds basically. I sort of thought you were a sunflower kind of girl and I couldn't find any outside. So, here you go. Transfigured weeds. Well, it depends on how you view the whole "transfiguration" and "after transfiguration" label because they can be both weeds and sunflowers. I just thought they were pretty and you would like them. Hello, I'm sorry. These are for you."

Barty said all of this very quickly, pacing the ward and gesturing at all of the appropriate moments. Hermione blinked slowly, trying to digest this barrage of information given in a very short period of time. Barty didn't look upset at her moment of silence, instead he looked as though used to people being very quiet after he spoke. He placed the large, vivid sunflowers into a vase Madam Pomfrey had given him as he walked into the Hospital Ward. They really were beautiful, vivid and bright, for _transfigured weeds _but Hermione appreciated the gesture, nevertheless.

"Thank you..." Hermione absentmindedly smelt the flowers. Strangely enough, they didn't smell like sunflowers. "Roses. You charmed them to smell like roses."

"Well, yes, I did. I think the problem with bringing sunflowers is that the smell can be a little overpowering if you are feeling unwell and, by looking at the paleness of your face, I can safely say you are still not feeling ready to take on the world and all it's glory. It's a simple charm, really, if you think about it. I didn't want to bring roses because, hey, I'm not ready_ to go there_ with a girl I just met and who cursed me within ten seconds, before passing out. For all I know you could be a crazy person sent to kill me! So they look like sunflowers and smell like roses. Well, they really are just transfigured weeds. Dandelions, if I remember correctly."

"Thank you."

"It's not a problem. I just wanted to say hello without you, you know, attempting to cleave my hair from my head. I'm Bartemius Crouch Junior, fifth year Ravenclaw and prefect, and I am _most definitely _at your service. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss?"

"March." Hermione hesitated, gently shaking his proffered hand. "My name is Jane March."

"Well, Miss March, on behalf of student population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I offer to you my most warm of greetings. " He grinned and bowed before her. Hermione's returned smile did not meet her eyes.

"And I would like to say I am bloody well relieved you didn't set more of my hair on fire. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to come up with a charm to grow back burnt hair, never mind get rid of the horrible stink? Madness! Absolute insanity. Oh! Grapes, yum. Do you mind if I...?"

Hermione wordlessly gestured to the boy who grinned and helped himself to a few of the grapes Madam Pomfrey had given her to make her feel more comfortable. Hermione stared at the grape-consuming boy with a frown. He wasn't evil, nor was he a threat to anyone except, perhaps, a grape or two. He wasn't shy either, nor was he unintelligent. Plus, he had one hell of a motor mouth on him. He didn't make her feel inferior, instead, he made her involuntarily relax and enjoy his patter of conversation.

How could this boy be the man she knew?

"Merlin, I'm sorry. You look as though I've just kicked your favourite puppy-dog! I thought you said I could help myself and I kind of did."

"No, it's fine. Sorry, I was just thinking." Hermione hesitated before giving him another smile. It was real this time and his eyebrows rose to the ceiling in reply.

"I understand, Jane." Was Barty's answer as he threw another two grapes in the air and caught them in his mouth. He gave her a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and a quick wink. "A strapping young stallion like myself alone in your room. Decisions, temptations, deliberations. What to do, what to do! What a complete and utter shame for you."

"You're really different to how I would imagine you would be." Hermione replied with a distant look in her eyes. It was true- Hermione would never have guessed him to be Barty Crouch Junior. He was too friendly, too warm, to be responsible for the deaths of so many people.

Barty's smile froze on his face. His eyes grew cold as he put the grapes back onto Hermione's bedside table.

"You have been speaking to my father, I presume."

Barty quickly stood from his armchair and strode from her bed, despite her silent protests. Hermione frowned in confusion as she watched his retreating back.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss March. You will be sufficiently happy here. _Goodbye_"

He slammed the door of the Hospital Wing as he burst through it. Hermione bit her bottom lip nervously, deep in thought. He must have thought she was a spy from Mr Crouch, Hermione frowned slightly, he must have expected me to react in a certain way to him.

_Not that she cared what he thought._

_Definitely _not.

Hermione put her head down on the pillow and glumly stared at the rose-scented-sunflower-ex-dandelion creation he had made for her. It really was a beautiful flower. Bright, comforting, cheerful and reminded her of planting sunflowers with her grandmother when she was younger. The magic itself was impressive, showing a clear understanding of transfiguration and charms, not to mention an extensive knowledge of herbology.

The flower may have been beautiful and the magic impressive but the image of this boy searching throughout Hogwarts for a suitable dandelion to transfigure and charm into a perfect flower really meant more than the superficial reality of the flower. It wasn't just a flower, it was a gesture.

_A gesture seemingly ruined by a thoughtless comment._

"Oh _bum_"

* * *

Dumbledore had returned with the very uncomforting news that he couldn't find anyone who had a sure-fire knowledge on how Hermione could have been transported into the past, let alone how she could be taken back into the future.

Hermione had spent two days sitting in the Hospital Wing, morosely staring at her sunflower and snapping at Madam Pomfrey who insisted in babying her. He hadn't been back to see her and that thought made her feel worse than before. Hermione had come to the decision to treat everyone in the past as though she didn't know them in the future. She felt it was morally wrong to base her relationships on how someone might turn out in a few years time and she wasn't just referring to her straw-haired visitor.

Hermione had an incident during her first evening in the Hospital Wing whenever a very boisterous group of Gryffindors burst into the Wing in the search for another friend. Remus Lupin, obviously, was not in the Hospital Wing but this did not stop James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew from shouting a cheerful greeting to the bedridden Hermione who, in turn, squeaked in response.

Madam Pomfrey had shooed them out before noticing Hermione's eyes welling with tears, a strange smile playing across her face. '_In a few years time they will...'_ She knew she could finish that sentence for each of boisterous young men, each with a tragic ending. She knew their stories and knew what would happen to them when they left Hogwarts.

'_But you can't think like that' _Hermione scolded herself '_This isn't "the past" because you are living in it. This is "the present".'_

It seemed as though the Universe, bless it, agreed with this sentiment and this message came in the form of a rather unorthodox temporary solution. Dumbledore suggested to Hermione that she should be sorted into a Hogwarts house until a more permanent solution could be discovered. Hermione nodded resignedly with the news of this shocking turn of events; there was no other way she could get on with it than to accept it. Truthfully, Hermione would have suggested it if Dumbledore had not. She was bored out of her mind and would much rather do something more productive than aimlessly flick through borrowed books.

This is why at around four-thirty on September 10th 1977, Hermione Granger found herself standing outside a door leading to the Great Hall in preparation for the second Sorting of her life so far. Dumbledore was making an announcement to introduce her and to stave off questions until she was seated in her new House. Well, not _new_ in the traditional sense of the term, due to the fact she was more than likely going to be in Gryffindor, but _new _in the sense no-one she knew was alive, really.

The pointing and the whispering as she made her way down the centre of the Great Hall did nothing to stop her from wanting to run in the opposite direction, bordeness be damned. She focused on Dumbledore's eyes and hands guiding her toward a stool with the battered Sorting Hat she remembered from her first year. The Great Hall was arranged just as she was used to it, _a blessing in disguise_, as Hermione felt she wouldn't be made a fool off by sitting at the wrong House table. She could vaguely see some familiar faces, varying between peering up at her intently or giving unimpressed looks to their lack of food.

She slipped the hat snugly over her hair and waited for the familiar voice.

The Hat did not disappoint.

"Miss Granger, sorry, Miss March. Professor Dumbledore told me all about you. Yes, very unique case indeed. Where to put you, however? Ah, a Gryffindor in your future but is it for you now? I feel a great wave of Slytherin coming from you, especially after that trick you played on Umbridge during your Fifth year. But no, Slytherin isn't for you. Nor is Hufflepuff. An incredibly keen mind, Ravenclaw would be perfect for you. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw? The bold or the brains. _Do you have an opinion on this matter?"_

Hermione closed her eyes tightly. She could play it safe and go for Gryffindor, meet James Potter, chill out with Sirius Black, laugh with Peter Pettigrew, talk to Remus Lupin or even befriend Lily Evans. She could tell Harry how they really were, she could give him something taken away from him. She could, once more, do something to make Harry happy. She liked Gryffindor, she was a Gryffindor at heart and she knew that she would always be a Gryffindor. It seemed safe, somehow, like being at home...

"Ravenclaw." She muttered. "I _want _to be in _Ravenclaw."_

The Hat opened it's mouth to announce it's decision. The Ravenclaw table erupted with cheers and welcomed her as she took her seat at the table. Hermione smiled indulgently as the clapping died down and Dumbledore gave the all-clear to begin dinner. She caught Dumbledore's eye who in turn raised his goblet with a clear message. _Good Luck_.

"Hello Jane, right?" A bossy female voice accompanied by the image of a slight blonde with a very determined brow. "I'm Nicole Woods, the idiot on your left is Michael Lawrence, the pouting red head is Naomi Leighton and the guy building a fort from his mashed potatoes is David McDonald. We're all in our seventh year."

Hermione gave each of her new housemates a small smile and a nod in greeting. Their names were unfamiliar and so she felt herself relax. They did seem friendly enough and not quite as snobby as Hermione remembered her Ravenclaws being.

Hermione felt an unexpected tingling sensation as though she was being watched. She hadn't seen Barty when she was walking down to the Sorting Hat, Hermione glanced down the table and recoiled slightly with the intensity of his gaze. His brown eyes seemed almost black in the candlelight, staring at her as though he could see right into her very soul. All traces of the warm, friendly boy had gone and his face was a mask.

Hermione met his gaze and gave him a half-smile, a smile that he returned after blinking himself out his stare.

"What year are you in, Jane?" Nicole brought her from the hypnotic lull his face had created. Hermione shook her head.

"Fifth." Hermione fought to keep her tone from becoming bitter. She should have been in seventh year but she was too young.

"Oh! You'll have to meet some of them." Nicole swivelled in her chair, her keen blue eyes almost scanning for her targets. "Eleanor Martin, can you see her? She's got the huge mop of brown hair. She's a prefect and an absolutely fantastic girl. You'll love her."

Eleanor Martin gave a half-wave from her seat further down the bench. She was a rather confident girl, Hermione mused, watching her pull her friends closer into a conversation. She had extremely long brown hair that went down to the small of her back in a neat plait.

"Who else can I see? Oh! Barty Crouch! Blonde boy, pretty tall with those big browns of his. You see? His father is Bartemius Crouch and a really important politician. Barty is as great a guy as they come, just a bit shy. Hang on, he's pretending he can't hear us... OI! BARTY!"

"Yes?" A cooler tone than the one he had used with her in the Hospital Wing. Nicole didn't seem put off by his aloof attitude.

"This is Jane March. She's in your year."

Barty's eyes snapped back to the goblet of pumpkin juice in front of him. Hermione felt her cheeks flush as a small smile played across his lips.

"Yes, Jane and I go way back." Barty grinned. Hermione relaxed considerably. She had been convinced he would hate her and would hurt her after her slip. "I do hope she is feeling better."

"I do, thank you." Hermione's eyes twinkled. Barty's eyes snapped to hers, all hostility gone and replaced by a slight merriment she hadn't expected to see. "Of course, my speedy recovery was due to a single sunflower."

"I'm glad." Barty's lips pursed tightly in an effort to not laugh. "Just call me Mediwizard Crouch. It was nice speaking to you again, Jane."

"You too, Barty." Hermione's head tilted slightly. "You too."

* * *

A/N: The way I see it, Barty was just an ordinary kid before bad things started happening to him and the world around him. I feel he was a Ravenclaw because it was far too easy to put him into Slytherin. I just don't think it would have been such a big surprise if he was in Slytherin, you know? (Not that I'm saying all Slytherins are evil! Honestly, I've been "sorted" into Slytherin so many times that I am madly in love with all things Slytherin!) More the utterly delightful Ravenclaw turned bad. Barty, in this story at least, is a good, decent, likeable kid with a very dark side to him but, hey, isn't everyone? Even Harry andHermione have their canon moments of darkness! I want to explore the reality of corruption and to do that I want to show you Barty before and after. Please, give me a chance!

Hermione went for Ravenclaw over Gryffindor? Well, I did tell you it was set in MWPP but had nothing to do with them. (Maybe not _nothing _but there certiantely will not be much emphasis on their day-to-day life. Sorry! If you want them, read another story! This is Barty Crouch Jr's chance to shine!) No-one in this story is quite as simple as they might appear and, believe me when I say, Hermione had perfectly good reasons for choosing Ravenclaw.

Again, Happy New Year! May it be 990323248932893 times better than last year!


	4. Chapter 4

Perceptual Distortions- 4

A/N: Another chapter, typed in record speed in my desire to finally finish a chaptered story. Basically what I wanted to do with this chapter is set up the backdrop of the story... remember, we are still in the early stages of the transformation of Bartemius Crouch Junior. And, if you notice, there is an S in Perceptual DistortionS, hinting that maybe Barty isn't the only person to change their perception. I _like _the Ravenclaw Common Room! I think I'd renounce my spiritual home at Slytherin for it!

* * *

It was not, as Hermione expected, largely similar to the Gryffindor common room. It was open and airy with the patriotic blues and bronzes restricted to the sofas and chairs neatly positioned around a very large table. It actually looked like a tower with large, stained-glass windows shining their beautiful patterns into the room. Images of a woman, Rowena Ravenclaw, draped in blue and holding a book were beside another image of a large bird, wings outstretched with piercing eyes.

The table was placed directly in the centre of the room. It was round and surrounded by large, comfortable chairs. It was very elegant and refined, yet had an air of practicality and order about it. This is where most of the Ravenclaws did their homework and study, Barty explained with a slight ruffle of his nose. He preferred to work in his dormitory or in the library, away from the constant chatter of the common room. A common misconception, he had said grinning, was that many Ravenclaws were know-it-all, bookworms with brains the size of melons. Hermione had been slightly taken aback by this discovery but his words were supported by the sight of a group of seventh years organising a game of Exploding Snap for gallons.

Hermione supposed that she shouldn't be surprised by this attitude. Many of the houses acted in a certain way just for tradition, rather than actual characteristics. Hufflepuffs were nice but plain, Ravenclaws were intelligent but dull, Slytherins were cunning but untrustworthy, Gryffindors were bold but arrogant. Everyone knew these stereotypes and everyone stuck to them, most of the time. When Hermione was in Gryffindor, she often heard Lavender cry at night because she was failing potions. During the day, it didn't matter what Lavender's grade was because she was a brave Gryffindor. During the night, she couldn't help but cry. She couldn't help but be Lavender Brown, girl rather than Lavender Brown, Gryffindor.

The House system successfully took away the identity of every student of Hogwarts, past and present. No-one could be an individual because of where they took supper at night.

Ravenclaws were not all booky, brainy types who cared for nothing else but learning. Hufflepuffs were not all nice, plodding types who would do anything for another human being. Slytherins were not all cunning, manipulative types who were preparing for a life of evil deeds. Gryffindors were not all loud, bold, brave types who rushed headlong into everything.

To stereotype is to folly.

A section of the common room was roped off with a large ruby red rope. The walls in here were lined with bookshelves, varying in size, colour and capacity. Books, neatly organised and catalogued, filled the bookshelves in order of skill level (_first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh years) _which had subcategories for each of the topics studied at Hogwarts. Comfortable, black chairs were strategically placed throughout. Hermione could see a rota pinned to one of the walls above a large, leather-bound book. She could just make out the title of the list; "Library Duty" and a list of all Ravenclaws. It was a simple library for the private use of all Ravenclaw students.

Hermione looked at the books longingly, her heart giving the familiar pang of a woman in love with the written word. People change; they grow taller, fatter, thinner, happier, sadder, angrier, more sarcastic, more cheerful, more psychotic but books... books never change. They will always tell you their secrets if you treat them with kindness and generosity, a lesson which Harry and Ron could never understand. Books do not get up and leave, abandoning all they had once held dear. Books are always the same, never-changing and ever-loving.

Hermione could understand books. Books never lie. Books never think "_it's too risky_". Books never ignore Hermione's sacrifices over the years. Books never think they know better than you. Books never hurt you. Books never leave you.

Hermione Granger liked books.

* * *

Hermione couldn't stop counting her lucky stars that there were only four other Ravenclaw girls, meaning there was a bed spare in the dormitory. No-one knew why there were five beds laid out for four girls but Hermione, for once, didn't care to ponder the details. She was tired, incredibly tired, and so all she wished for was to sleep without thinking.

The other girls of the Ravenclaw dormitory had other ideas, however.

A tall girl with a strong jaw, shoulder-length brown hair, dark brown eyes and a wide smile introduced herself as Julie Frost. She was lounging lazily at the bottom of her bed, alternating between painting her toe-nails a vivacious red and peering at Hermione curiously.

Another girl, smaller and blonde, was propped up in her bed reading a muggle book, _Little Women_, with her black-framed, square glasses sitting neatly on her pointed nose. Lucy King flashed Hermione a bright smile before drawing herself back to the book.

Eleanor Martin and another girl, Molly Houston, sat on the same bed idly chatting about their day. Molly Houston was another blonde but of Scottish origin as her merry prattling revealed. She had an airy voice and a loud laugh. Eleanor was absentmindedly plaiting Molly's hair into one long braid.

"So, Jane, what was it like travelling around with your parents?" Eleanor smiled politely as Hermione climbed into her new bed. "Dumbledore said you learnt magic with them?"

"Yes" Hermione nodded "My mum and dad liked to travel and couldn't see the point in staying in one place all of the time. They taught me magic as we travelled throughout Europe and Africa."

"It seems a shame that you had to come to school for your last few years to do the external exams. Although, I suppose I can see why the Ministry made you! Qualifications are everything these days." Julie said rolling her eyes. Hermione gave her a weak smile, pulling the blankets over herself in an attempt to hint at her tiredness.

"It makes sense." Lucy finally spoke, pulling her eyes from her book and snapping them on Hermione's face. "Surely, you cannot have expected a proper future without doing your OWLS or NEWTS? Yes, it makes perfect sense to come to Hogwarts now."

Hermione merely acknowledged this with the slightest nod. She was not in the mood for questioning. She wanted to sleep.

"What do you think of Hogwarts, Jane?" Eleanor asked, pushing Molly from her lap, finally finishing her long braid.

"It's nice. Everyone is very friendly here and I like it." Hermione's reply was short and to the point. These girls, well intentioned aside, were driving her crazy and it was only her first night.

"Even the Slytherins?" Molly giggled loudly. The other girls in the dormitory followed suit and Hermione had an urge to join them.

"I haven't spoken to many."

"Watch out for them, Jane." Eleanor warned, eyes flashing seriously. "Most of them are fine... Well, not exactly 'fine' so much as tolerable but others you need to keep an eye on. Especially the seventh year ones, that Snape is a nasty bugger if ever I have met one. Rabastan Lestrange, he's in our year, is always up to something with that gang of his. All pure-blood elitist types, you know? Pretty harmless in class but I know I wouldn't want to run into them down a dark corridor. Generally just keep out of their way and they'll ignore you. We have a few classes with them but, don't worry, Jane. We'll watch out for you."

"And it's not just the Slytherins you need to watch out for, now." Molly muttered darkly, her soft Scottish burr was tinged with an unspoken anger. "Those Gryffindor seventh years are as bad as the Slytherins and, in most cases, worse. Always playing cruel practical jokes on anyone younger than them just for a few cheap laughs. You can always tell where you stand with a Slytherin, they always want something from you but Gryffindors, especially James bloody Potter... they do it for fun. To show how brilliant they are. You can never tell who is going to be their next victim."

"So basically avoid everyone who isn't a Ravenclaw?" Hermione grinned, biting down a desire to scream. Hermione had always had her suspicions that James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were not boys that everyone loved. Hermione had heard of their pranks, legendary throughout Gryffindor history, and had thought them cruel rather than heroic. She knew they were kind men, she had seen their kindness first hand, but she also knew they were cruel boys.

"By Jove, I think she's got it" Julie said straight-faced with a mocking accent. Eleanor and Molly both giggled loudly whilst Hermione was sure she heard a chuckle from Lucy's bed. Hermione indulged them with a smile. "The only ones you can really trust are the ones from your own house. Well, most of us! The boys are a little bizarre but nothing too objectionable."

"Either geniuses or they think they are." Eleanor smiled sardonically. "On one hand you've got Darius Baxter, brainy as heck but a complete and utter snobby, elitist git. Maxwell Peters, copies Darius' work all day and still has the audacity to believe he is God's gift to Ravenclaw. The twins, Philip and Ray Osmond, spend all day tinkering with whatever they can find to build Merlin knows what. Their dad is a Muggle and has something to do with, erm, electricity so they spend most of their spare time getting bits and bobs sent to them by post." Eleanor hesitated. Hermione could have sworn she saw a glint of mischief in her eyes. "And then there's Barty..."

"And then there is Barty, indeed." Molly grinned wickedly and winked suggestively in the direction of Hermione.

"The smartest boy on the planet. He is going to get twelve OWLS for sure! You'd think having his father,...you know his father, Jane? Bartemius Crouch?" Hermione nodded briefly, all to aware of the memory of his father. Eleanor continued "Yeah you'd think he'd be really stuck up and arrogant but he is the loveliest, sweetest guy ever. If you ever have a problem with anything, he'd be sure to help you out. He's really quiet, though and doesn't speak too much unless you speak to him first."

"I think his father is the most horrid man ever. He hardly ever sees Barty and whenever he does, he puts him down. How could anyone put Barty down? He works harder than most of the Hufflepuffs and is more cunning than most of the Slytherins! He really is a unique human being." Julie continued after Eleanor with a thoughtful tone of voice. "I wouldn't put it past Senior to hurt him. Poor Barty."

"Yeah, poor Barty" Lucy added quietly, finally setting her book aside. "Imagine having a father like that. He never supports him, always runs him down and you can always tell when Barty has heard something from home. He doesn't deserve that sort of life. It's a wonder how he is such a great guy after everything he's gone through."

"Poor Barty" Molly sighed dramatically, gracefully moving into her own bed. "Great guy, horrible life. No wonder he is so quiet all of the time! I'm going to sleep now, girls. We can talk more tomorrow!"

The other girls bade each other goodnight as, one by one, the lights dimmed to darkness.

'_Poor Barty' _Hermione thought, finally putting her head down for a well needed rest. '_Poor Barty, indeed.'_

_

* * *

_

Hermione's first class as Jane March was Transfiguration with a familiar, albeit younger face. Professor McGonagall still looked similar to the McGonagall Hermione remembered, excepting her hair was black with a few grey strands rather than the opposite. Still stern and formidable, Professor McGonagall offered a little solace Hermione had been craving.

"Welcome to your first transfiguration class, March." She had said firmly at the start of the lesson. "We do not expect slacking nor misbehaviour in my class, students caught doing either activity will be politely asked to remove their presence from my classroom and say goodbye to their chances of an OWL in transfiguration. Please, take your seat and we will start the class."

Hermione slid into an empty spot beside Barty. He smiled warmly and gave mouthed a "Hello". Hermione felt her face melt into a return smile and she whispered her own greeting.

"Today we will be continuing our work on transfiguring a quill into a flower. Only three of you have managed it thus far and I would like the entire class to finish this by the end of the week. Martin, Crouch and Baxter will circulate the classroom. You may begin."

Professor McGonagall sat stiffly onto her chair and began marking a large pile of homework. Hermione felt the familiar atmosphere of a transfiguration classroom rush over her as she lifted her wand from her pocket and placed it gently on the desk.

"I'm glad you are here, Jane" Barty said after a few moments. Hermione glanced up from her textbook (provided by Dumbledore, of course). Barty was absentmindedly twirling his wand along his long fingers. "Everyone else pairs up. Eleanor and Molly, Darius and Maxwell, and the twins. Which leaves me, on my own as usual. Now, I've got you to sit beside me and irritate me with your desk-stealing habits. I must warn you, I have drawn an invisible line down the desk. Any attempts to cross it will be seen as an act of war and I will react in the appropriate manner... you have been warned, Janey-Jane."

Barty waggled his eyebrows in a seemingly threatening manner and Hermione grinned a little more. It was very hard to forget who he would become, she thought darkly, watching him balance quills idly at his desk.

Hermione shook her head to clear it of her thoughts, reminding herself of her promise to live her life in the present. She lifted her wand and murmured the spell she had learnt and perfected during her original fifth year. The quill turned into a large sunflower.

"Hmm... I said you looked like a sunflower type of girl." Barty grinned over her shoulder. It was a maniacal grin, incredibly infectious, and Hermione just couldn't stop grinning herself. Barty looked toward Professor McGonagall. "Professor, Jane just transfigured her quill into a sunflower."

"Very good, March. Very good indeed." Professor McGonagall examined Hermione's sunflower with rapt attention. "You have a skill for transfiguration."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione was attacked by a barrage of 'Congratulations' from her fellow Ravenclaws. Barty cocked an impressed eyebrow which Hermione felt was worth more than the parroted "Well Done".

"You are a challenge, Jane March." Barty whispered, his ear close to Hermione's as they made their way out of the classroom. Hermione shivered as she felt his breath brush against the back of her neck. He was close, so close she could smell the intoxicating aroma of him. He smelt of parchment, outdoors and mint.

"I do hope no-one ever underestimates you."

* * *

A/N: I doubt any of the new original characters will feature that much in the story because I have a slight fear of writing a dormitory of Mary Sues. Urg... Remember: this story is all about Barty. I love Barty and he deserves it.

**Coming in the next chapter**: Hermione and Barty bond a little more, an important character makes an unwelcome appearence, there is a letter from home and the trap is finally honeyed.


	5. Chapter 5

Perceptual Distortions- 5

A/N: The final of my "establishment" chapters. The plot is set to take off in the next chapter which should be up in the next few days. Here is my first warning: I'm planning on really darkening this story. There are some dark brushes in this chapter but I'm just going to warn you that this story will get darker in later chapters.

I'm back at school now which really means I do not have as much time to write so I do apologise if my chapters are a little less than regular. Please leave me a little comment with helpful concrit!

Warning: Nothing Is As It Seems.

* * *

"_Our Master requires a token of your loyalty before he will consent to give you his mark and allow you to stand in his presence." _

"_I will give all and more to our Lord, Malfoy. You know that as well as I do." _

_The blonde-haired man gave a haughty chuckle. Lucius Malfoy was an asset, a liaison officer between Lord Voldemort and his potential Death Eaters. It was a universally acknowledged fact between all those vying for acceptance into the circle of the great that Lucius Malfoy could convince a drowning man to purchase a glass of water. His darker-haired companion was well aware of both Malfoy's strengths and weaknesses. _

"_Well, you see... Our Lord requires a certain sacrifice from all, not just you. With your considerable talents our beloved Master has a very specific task set in mind for you. It may cost you all you have, all you could possibly have and probably even more. I would advise you to consider what you will be giving up to accept this task."_

_The second man hesitated slightly, thoughts whirring through his head. To be honest, he didn't find he had much to lose by accepting and finally achieving all he had sought from the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts. _

_He hated his father beyond human intensity. The name he had been given had been a dirty, mocking joke by a universe out for a laugh. Just seeing the image of his father, the near-identical features to his own, made him yearn to rip out the man's heart and drain his body of blood, laughing manically the time entire. His father was barely a human being, more an anomaly that the world needed to be removed for the sake of the continuation of humanity. He was a disgrace, an absolute animal who did not deserve to live, let alone have a family. _

_His mother was a different story. He could tolerate her because she loved him without compromise, something his father refused to do. He continually cursed her foolishness for marrying a man such as his father. Not to mention her blind, naivety to continue to love a son like himself. She gave him little luxuries, a present here or there, to make up for the way his father behaved. He knew that he did not love his mother, merely accepted her life and love. _

_He was, by no means, a bad student at Hogwarts, achieving top grades from his first year in all subjects. He had a small band of friends but was, for the most part, a loner, preferring his own company to the company of his peers. He was smiled fondly upon by many of the students and many of the staff who, he knew, pitied him for what fate had delivered in terms of parentage. He hated the pity, obvious in all of their eyes and whispers. But he was a bright boy, favoured by many, and thus achieved well at school with an absolutely glittering future ahead. _

_Not that he had any particular desire to join any of the Ministry departments, teach at Hogwarts nor work in another country, researching something. He knew what he wanted from the moment those whispers fell to his ears. _

_He had wanted to join the Death Eaters, to become a loyal supporter of the great Lord Voldemort. He wanted to kill for his Master; he wanted to die for his Master. He only wanted to use his talents, gained under the pitying gaze of Albus Dumbledore, to achieve the greatness he had been destined to achieve. He honestly wanted to purify the world of those deserving to die: Muggles, Mudbloods and Traitors To Magic._

_His disgusting, filthy father. _

_When he had been first contacted by Lucius Malfoy, all those years ago, he had dreamed of serving Lord Voldemort to the full extent of his abilities. He was not afraid to fight for Lord Voldemort, nor was he afraid to die. He was ready and willing to kill for Lord Voldemort to whomever his Master declared to be his victim. He would do anything and everything for Lord Voldemort. _

_He belonged to Lord Voldemort, heart, body and soul._

"_I am ready, Malfoy." He could hardly hold back his snide tone. Malfoy was useful for his contacts and his wealth, not for his brains nor exceptional wizarding power. He did not believe in the Cause, nor was he prepared to give up as much as the man standing before him. "I will do what the Dark Lord wishes."_

"_Good." The aristocratic tones irritated the man. They reminded him of why he was here. Lucius slowly lifted a piece of parchment, bound by a black ribbon, and handed it to his companion. "The full details of your task lie within. It will burn when you have finished reading it. Return to Hogwarts. Until our next encounter."_

_Lucius disapparated seconds later, leaving the second man staring at the parchment with a desperate, hungry look in his eyes. Smiling fanatically, he gingerly skimmed his eyes down, taking in his first task for his new Master. Only when he has completed it will he get the approval he craves more than the death of his father. He will become a Chosen One, a Dark Knight. A warrior prepared to die for what he believed in whole-heartedly. _

_A loyal Death Eater._

_

* * *

_

Hermione felt, considering the fact she had travelled back in time and was three years younger than she was before she left, she was handling this potentially traumatic situation in a mature, sensible manner. Instead of following her first instinct that told her to run, hide and scream as loudly as possible, Hermione had decided to take control of her life by controlling the rather unfortunate situation.

Hermione had resisted all urges to smack Severus Snape with something blunt, to madly hug Lily Potter, to shake Barty and to curse Regulus Black into oblivion. Hermione was positively _delighted_ with the fact she had managed to control her temper, so far.

The person most likely to push her over the edge, however, was Regulus Black. Regulus Black was a single member of a group of Slytherins who, unfortunately, shared some of their classes with the Ravenclaws. They were loud, disruptive and incredibly annoying.

Hermione was forced to concede that not all of her Slytherin classmates were making her want to blast them into oblivion. Just Icarus Hanley, Nester Lucas, Regulus Black, Livius Royston and Victoria Stafford. This group of people quickly became the bane in Hermione's existence.

The life which Hermione the Ravenclaw was experiencing was not incredibly different from the life that Hermione the Gryffindor had enjoyed. Hermione still woke up at the usual hour, took her morning shower, ate breakfast in the Great Hall with her classmates, went to classes, ate dinner, did some homework and finally crawled into her warm bed without much more than a girlish chat with her new peers. The only really troubling aspect of her life in the past was her heart aching to see the faces of her friends once more.

Hermione mentally cursed herself every morning for not patching things up with Harry and Ron after their argument. She knew the only reason they attended the funeral of her grandmother was to try and reconcile their differences and to give her some support. If _only _she hadn't wanted to go to the bedroom. If _only one of them had followed her up_.

Even then, Hermione's longings to find Harry and Ron were tainted by a sneaking voice that told her to enjoy her time in the past from her second meeting with Professor Dumbledore who, basically, explained that no-one he had spoken to knew of a way of going back to her original time. She was, effectively, trapped in the past until further notice.

Hermione's relationship with Barty blossomed throughout her first few weeks. He was the sort of boy Hermione hadn't much experience with being helpful, intelligent and a perfect gentleman- traits scarcely found in many of the male species and to find them together in one specimen is an almost impossibility. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed as he held doors open for her, offered his hand when they had to jump a trick-step, produced two umbrellas as they travelled the sometimes wet and windy trail to the herbology greenhouses and he always listened to her attentively, occasionally offering his own opinion at the topic at hand. Hermione knew his faults as a person, knew how manipulative he would eventually become, and was quite rightly concerned about striking up a friendship with the man who was responsible for the downfall of Wizarding-kind.

_No, that would be Voldemort. Voldemort did those things, not Barty. Voldemort is responsible for the deaths of all those who would rather fight him than roll over and ignore him. _

Hermione had been disgusted with the news of Lord Voldemort's latest macabre display of his power; the blood was drained from a group of severely disabled children and used to daub messages of hate throughout a nearby town. The decaying corpses of the ill children were found mutilated, drained and arranged in a grotesquely mocking way so that it looked as though the children were playing games. One child was slumped over with a large ball in his hands, whilst another was placed artistically in between another two limp bodies holding the ends of a skipping rope. Many of them were playing hide and seek. The remains of the teachers looking after the children were found in a bedroom, stripped naked and placed in a compromising position.

The only drop of blood found at the scene of the crime was said to have been from a dog the children had adopted which had been blown up until it had exploded.

It had been arranged the with eye of an artist, the temperament of a sadist and the magical prowess of a prodigal child.

Shock, horror and outrage followed the news of this bone-chilling mass extermination. 'They weren't even wizards' was a line repeated in the same tones of incomprehension by all at Hogwarts.

Sick, defenceless, Muggle children were the victims of the Dark Lord.

"Bastards." Barty said when he saw the headline in the Daily Prophet. "Bloody sick, twisted, deranged, fuckwits of a human kind."

This reaction had intrigued Hermione to the point of throwing her arms around him and congratulating him on his anti-Death Eater/Voldemort sentiments. Hermione didn't know when he would begin to turn to them, nor his reasons why but she did know it would happen eventually.

"Morning, Jane." A cheerful voice broke Hermione from her reverie. Lucy King had come down to breakfast, armed with only a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook and a piece of toast. "I hate mornings, too."

"Absolute nightmare." Hermione grinned as Lucy took a seat beside her at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. "You're down quite early this morning. Trying to cram before Professor Giacomo's 'surprise' test today?" Hermione quirked her lips in a grin, referring to her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who had a habit of "hinting" they would be receiving a test the next class, fortunately this happened every day and Hermione was quite certain that a trained pixie would have worked out his pattern by now.

"Well, some of us have to revise." Lucy pouted, mock petulantly with a pointed look in Hermione's direction. "Not everyone can sit down and magically spurt all kinds of magical knowledge, like you or Eleanor or Barty. Even Darius is a genius. Sometimes the rest of us have to put in some effort to keep up, you know?"

"What have I gone and done now?" Both girls gasped as Barty grinned, lifting the half-eaten toast from Lucy's plate and devouring it in a single bite. Lucy made a noise of protest which made Barty's smile even wider. "Sorry, Lucy, I'm starving this morning. Would you like me to replace it?"

"No, it's fine Barty. I wasn't going to eat it, far too nervous."

"How come?" Barty's brown eyes were quizzical and concerned. He glanced at Hermione who shook her head in reply.

"I'm going to fail Giacomo's test." Lucy said miserably, pulling her book towards her in an attempt to use the rumour that the closer your book is to you, the more you are likely to learn.

"Oh, don't worry about it too much, Lucky." Barty said at once, smiling widely once more at the blonde. "They never count for much, he probably doesn't even realise he gives them every day and you have always done well so far. Give yourself a break!"

"Yes, Barty is right, Lucy." Hermione nodded comfortingly to Lucy who replied with a nod of her own. Barty, glad the emergency was solved with little or no actual struggle, grabbed the empty seat beside Hermione and pulled whatever foods he could reach onto his plate. Hermione watched, in both fascination and repulsion, as he attacked a plate of porridge at the same time as nibbling upon a sausage wrapped in streaky bacon.

"I did say I was hungry, Janie." Barty said, not breaking his stride of devouring as many breakfast foods as humanely possible by speaking to Hermione.

"My name is Jane." Hermione rolled her eyes. Barty had insisted in calling her Janie as he found it irritated her to a sufficient degree. "I am just concerned you'll give yourself a heart-attack or something."

Hermione paused and silently brought her attention back to her own bowl of porridge which seemed to have lost all taste. Hermione knew that Barty would never live long enough to get a fat-related heart-attack. Hermione knew that his soulless shell would remain in Azkaban until it died of natural causes.

"M'ppose" Barty replied with a mouthful of food. Hermione ruffled her nose and was about to offer a reply when a loud noise signalled the arrival of the morning post. Instinctively, Hermione glanced up, all too aware of the fact she would not be receiving post from anyone. She returned her gaze towards Barty whose face had grown cold, the merriment disappearing in an instant. An owl had dropped a small, neat letter beside his tea.

Abandoning his food, Barty slowly lifted the letter, opened it and read it silently. Hermione watched how, for a single moment, a look of intense anger was replaced by the mask she had known before. Barty quickly stood and left the table, barking that they should tell Professor Giacomo he would be "along momentarily."

"Oh, poor Barty." Lucy said, pity filling her eyes which followed Barty's retreating back until he slammed the door. Lucy frowned deeply, watching him shake in anger as he walked. "It must be from home."

Hermione knew this from the moment the owl had arrived but nodded with Lucy, her eyes filling with more pity than for him at this particular moment. This would continue, she knew, until one day he would snap, go to Lord Voldemort and embark on a life that would lead to his eventual Kiss. Hermione made her excuses to Lucy and sped down the Great Hall, (Much to the amusement of Sirius Black who shouted "_Wow, I knew Ravenclaws like to learn but at least give the teachers time to get out of bed before battering your way to heir classroom."_ This was met with both roars of laughter and groans.) aiming to catch Barty before he got too far ahead.

He was not hard to find, all Hermione had to do was follow the whispers and eyes filled with pity. Barty was slumped against a wall, hands shaking in suppressed anger with this mouth twitching nervously.

"Hey Barty." Hermione said cautiously as she walked toward him. His eyes snapped to her, all warmth and spark gone.

"Hello, Jane." _Not Janie, then. _

"What did the letter say, Barty?" Hermione tentatively slid down the wall beside him. He visibly recoiled, his shaking hands increase in ferocity. Hermione dismissed his flinch and gently put her hand into his.

"Want to read, Jane? I'm sure you'll find it thrilling." Barty's voice was uncharacteristically bitter and his tone was dangerous. He thrust the note into her lap, still cradling her hand. "It concerns you, you know."

Hermione lifted the parchment from her lap and read it gingerly, her eyes welling with tears.

_Son,_

_Your mother is unwell. She has contracted another disease, Muggle of course, that has attacked her immune system once more, leaving her defenceless and prone to catching and dying, from anything as simple as a cold. She wishes me to tell you not to worry and enjoy your time at Hogwarts. You may wish to know she has contacted this disease by prolonged exposure to ill Muggles in our town. I would advise you to contact her on this subject as she is refraining from communicating with me at this present time. _

_Recently, it has come to my attention that you have been increasingly in the company of virtually an unknown witch. I have attempted all necessary checks on a "Miss Jane March" and have found little to no information on her. Therefore, it is in your best interest to stop your relationship with her as soon as possible. She is nothing more than a stranger to you, I am family, I am your blood. She is a complete stranger, she doesn't care about you like I do, Bartemius. I am positive she will leave your person the moment she locates a more famous wizard to latch herself to. I advise you to leave her, she will only cause you harm._

_A teacher of yours, a Professor Giovanni Giacomo, tells me your work has been slipping in Defence Against the Dark Arts from the moment this girl, Jane March, has arrived. I would also advise you to remedy this or there will be serious consequences._

_I will not have a son who is an idiot or a love-struck fool, manipulated by an obviously vindictive little girl playing at woman. She only enjoys your company, if this is the case, because of who I am. She does not care about you. If I need to reinforce this message once more, punishment will come swiftly. Do not make me harm you, Bartemius._

_You have been warned,_

_Your Father._

Hermione felt her own anger raise throughout her body like a bubble threatening to burst. How dare that man, in his office in London, presume Hermione's intentions toward Barty! Hermione turned to share her disbelief at the arrogance of the man when she saw Barty stare at her with a sad look on his face. His eyes were wide, filled with unshed tears and puppy-like. Hermione could almost feel the pain radiate from him. He was hurt, deeply, by the thoughtless words of his father. Hermione didn't want him to hurt any longer.

"It is true, isn't it?" He asked in a strained voice. Hermione felt herself ready to burst into tears at the sound of the little-boy screaming in an undertone. "You only talk to be because of who is his. You're just like Eleanor."

"No, Barty." Hermione choked, watching the tears of betrayal pour openly from his deep brown eyes. "It isn't true. I talk to you because I like you."

"Liar" He spat, his upset tone turning vicious. Hermione recoiled at the intense anger directed at her "You are just like that disgusting _slut." _

"Barty, you know I'm not." Hermione pleaded, tightly squeezing his hand in an attempt to make him see sense. _She wanted him to understand. She need him to understand. _"I would never hurt you. Never."

"He is making her sick." Barty's voice was emotionless, all previous anger seemingly gone. "I know it. He is poisoning her, like he is trying to poison me against you. He always does this...to everyone. I remember when I was a child how much I wanted to be like him, how much I wanted him to love me like he loved work but he hated me. He really hated me, Jane. Despised me and wanted me to die. He still does... I'm never going to be good enough for him."

Hermione watched helplessly as his voice became softer, more coherent and accepting the words he spoke. He truly believed that has father hated him, that nothing he could ever do would make him love him. Hermione couldn't take it any longer and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He closed his eyes and allowed her to rock him gently, comforting him as best she could, like he had done for her when she first arrived those few short weeks ago.

"Never leave me, Jane." He sobbed, finally breaking down on her shoulder. Hermione felt her own tears rush down her face. "I need you."

"Never, Barty." Hermione said fiercely holding him, vowing never to let him go for all of eternity. "I will always be here for you. Always, always."

They sat like that, both holding each other tightly, until they heard the bell that signalled the beginning of lunch. Hermione couldn't imagine leaving him, especially knowing how badly his father upset him in an, admittedly, not very vicious letter. Barty just cradled closer to her warmth, feeling comfort from those arms that held him unconditionally.

"Always."

* * *

A/N: I wasn't too sure how to write BCS. I see him as a mixture between Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley so I tried to convey that. Barty is very upset because he is under too much pressure from dear ol' dad to perform well and do not disgrace his name in any way. Hermione is touched beyond touched by poor Barty's plight. I think I am subconciously writing this as a Rose/Ten relationship which I only caught onto half-way through which led to gratutious hand-holding. Why not a romance story, I hear you cry? I honestly cannot write a believable romance of my own!

See any familiar character:D

**Coming Next: **A Defence Against the Dark Arts class, tempers flare, the 'beginning of the end' of Barty Crouch Juniour, Hermione finds a clue and there is more bonding.


	6. Chapter 6

Perceptual Distortions- 6

A/N: It has been a while from I have updated so I'd like to announce that this story will be finished within the month, hopefully. Just wanted to say that I'm still here, still loving Barty and still being attacked by real life. Professor Giacomo is my politics teacher who is too perfect to be human, no joke, yet still makes us do Creative Learning. (You try writing a poem to honour First Past The Post!) Pretty intense chapter yet is basically one big scene. Anyway, enjoy your summer! I'm back writing so I'll finish PD by the end of August :D

* * *

Professor Sebastian Giacomo was the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for Hogwarts after deciding to pack up his life and see the world before he died. Giacomo had worked in almost every wizarding school from his native Naples until Hogwarts, with a position already confirmed at Salem for next year. He hated staying anywhere for more than a year and so the 'cursed' Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts was more than appealing.

Professor Giacomo spent his mornings slowly sipping his specially brewed tea, perusing the headlines of his favourite newspaper, _Clemency, _and idly wasting his time before the oncoming slaughter of his morning classes. Especially today's class, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw fifth years, who had a reputation for being extraordinarily migraine-inducing in even the most patient of teachers.

Today there would be more difficulty, Professor Giacomo grimly predicted as he leisurely stretched on his chair before his class was due to arrive. It had been a few weeks since any real incident and, with the inevitable holiday-lethargy, it seemed as though the class was entitled to do something purely disruptive. Professor Giacomo, as with every teacher, despised the week leading up to any break from school. Dumbledore had planned a larger than usual Halloween party this year _'to cheer the hearts of every student in these dark times', _which, in Giacomo's professional opinion, was slightly optimistic. Reports arrived daily of the horrendous acts of barbarism committed in the name of this Lord Voldemort. Students and teachers alike watched in fear every morning as the owls came bringing the terrible news of a family's demise. Yesterday it was a small tawny owl bringing an envelope to the trembling hands of a little first year, barely old enough to deal with losing her mother. The day before had been a letter detailing the death of Professor McGonagall's husband, Rufus, that shocked the formidable witch into collapsing. It had become the norm, as horrible as it felt, to receive the news of at least one death a day with every individual hoping it isn't their turn.

Professor Giacomo had yet to receive a letter.

The chatter of an oncoming class broke the Italian from his revive. They were drained, physically and emotionally, yet life seemed to go on as it always had. The resilience of the youth, especially in those Giacomo had been introduced to in the upper Gryffindors, was awe-inspiring and motivating. The laughter as they approached was almost enough to make the cynical Professor believe; in victory, in freedom and in life.

The two students making the most noise were a remarkable pair of individuals. Jane March and Barty Crouch kept close together, their heads bowed in intense conversation with identical, appreciative smiles threatening to break out on their usually serious faces. He would say something which would cause her eyes to roll, a wry smile playing loosely across her lips, and then he would move erratically, spin, gesture violently, sing, grin manically or even swing dance down the corridor, music only deafening to his ears with her laughing before being dragged into whatever movement he decided would be perfect to express himself. They radiated brightly wherever they went, always together and always holding those lucky enough to see them up, but they didn't seem to notice which made them shine all the more brilliantly. It made most people dizzy watching them over the last few months as they spiralled to new heights of passionate intensity and Giacomo could only guess what it felt like to be in such a blur.

They were not disruptive during his classes, which Giacomo liked, and so allowed them a rare smile. They were quickly joined by the rest of the Ravenclaws, coming in pairs, until the Slytherins arrived exactly on time. The quiet murmur of chat drained as Giacomo stood at the front of the class and spoke in the firm, accented manner that caused so many of the younger students, especially the females, to pay close attention.

"Morning, class." He greeted them with his usual politeness. The chalk rose to the level of the blackboard, poised to list his terms. "Objectives for today: Revision of the Unforgivable Curses and miscellaneous hexes and their defences." The charmed chalk underlined the first point on the list. "This will be done in pairs, one student performing the curse and the other offering their criticism. Creative learning projects are also due on the Thursday we get back so I would like to see a little work on them during Halloween, please and thank you. Not like you don't have them all finished already but we do like to give a bit of a deadline for your games, poems, posters, banners, presentation and assorted dramatisations on the behaviour, properties and defences against Kappas. I hope you are looking forward to it, ladies and gentlemen. Chocolate is always an acceptable prize as long as you bring enough for everyone and myself. Or enough for myself, in any case. Right, are well all set? No? Excellent."

The students repressed groans and eye-rolls. Professor Giacomo was brilliant, they couldn't deny that, but his enthusiasm for the dreaded 'Creative Learning' projects was almost inhuman. In fact, he just wasn't human. His perfectionism, drive, cynicism and flawless complexion quickly turned from amusing to just plain irritating. Some students even had theories, unfounded, that he was some sort of Muggle robot and claimed he did not need to eat or sleep.

The Ravenclaws began work immediately while the Slytherins once more embarked on a conversation of dubious nature, obviously aware that this class was pointless as their OWLs were in June, and their resentment towards Giacomo for making them compose sonnets in honour of the Shield charm was completely founded on embarrassment. Soon, even the Ravenclaws had abandoned all pretences of working on the many hexes they were forced to defend for their exams. Hermione and Barty worked diligently on their notes as they discussed the finer points of casting the Imperious.

"As with all curses intent on harming someone, the desire of the caster is ultimately the strongest factor in casting the curse, not the words themselves." Hermione recited perfectly as Barty listened with an expression of faux-interest.

"Yes... While I believe this may be the case, some curses do not work entirely on the intent, as described in Fielding's book. If an angry child, for example, thought so incredibly hard on hurting someone, causing the pain of the Cruciatus, yes, the thought alone would not be enough to trigger the curse. The words, the incantation, differentiates us because it gives us the choice between desire and the act itself. This is the difference between the Aurors who fight, who feel the vengeance and desire to hurt, yet do not lower themselves to saying the words, and the Death Eaters who can do both indiscriminately. It is the choice between saying something and doing something which is why, at least I believe, the words of the curses are equally, if not more, important than the desire." Barty puffed out his chest importantly and raised a comical eyebrow at Hermione whose face had clouded momentarily through his speech.

"In other words" He continued with a sly grin "It is the difference between fancying the pants off a girl and asking her out. The desire is there, always there, but do you ever do it? No. Why? You know better."

"How dare you compare the Unforgivable Curses to asking a girl out!" Hermione spluttered indigently. "They are completely different things!"

"The principles are the same." Barty argued lightly with a dismissive wave and a wink.

"It is quite derogatory to women. We're not out to land you in Azkaban."

"Some are." Barty chuckled with a wistful smile

"Name one."

"Eleanor, of course."

"Ah, I forgot." Hermione rolled her eyes. Barty had been more than vocal about his current obsession with the brown haired girl who seemed completely disinterested in his attempts to flirt. Hermione had advised him against it but, apparently, '_it is true love and true love is something to fight for!'_ "Is she worth going to Azkaban for? That is the true question."

"Yes!" Barty exclaimed loudly, jumping onto the table, causing the girl herself to throw a dirty look toward him. Barty grinned wildly at Hermione who returned it. His eyes softened considerably as he slid down into his seat once more. "You are worth it too, Jane. I would do anything for you, absolutely anything, little Janey-Jane. You are amazing."

Hermione was completely hypnotised by him, the alertness of his face, the sincerity in his eyes.

It terrified her.

"But nothing gross or anything. I love Eleanor more, sorry." Barty hastily added, smiling brightly at Hermione. She patted him sarcastically on the arm and ducked her head slightly. Hermione felt suddenly very cold and very scared. Their friendship had grown so much over the last few months and she felt closer to Barty than she felt to Harry or Ron but whenever they stopped talking, stopped holding each other, Hermione could see his face, the face of the Barty she knew who initiated Voldemort's return. Even when they were together, she could see the same fanatical, manic behaviour that Barty would be famous for. She wondered when it would be that he would be taken to Voldemort's clutches and eventually pay the ultimate price for his devotion. Today? Tomorrow? Two years? She couldn't bring herself to think about losing him.

"Ok! Janie! Smile again. I love you more, I promise." Barty snuggled his head on her shoulder and smiled angelically at Hermione. She placed a tearful kiss on his head and laughed at his typically little-boy antics.

"I love you, Janie-Jane. But not in the weird way, in the nice way."

"Thank you, Barty-Bart. I love you too."

"Aw, Jane. I thought you said you loved me. You've broken my heart, baby, you really have." A slick voice interrupted their moment of tenderness. Regulus Black, accompanied by his small army, loomed leeringly above Hermione and Barty. In an instant, Barty's face darkened to an eerie calm.

"Go back to your desk, Black. I'm actually not interested in talking to you." Barty murmured in a low voice. Hermione flinched at the threat in his tone.

"How is your revision going, Crouch? Learnt how to cast the Cruciatus yet, just like dear father? He would be disappointed if you couldn't shoot it off as fast as he can." Regulus hissed as his friends laughed loudly. Hermione glanced quickly around to find Professor Giacomo but he had left the room.

"Just ignore them, Barty." Hermione put her hand into Barty's and squeezed it in a reassuring way. He flashed her an unreadable look and dropped her hand.

"Your mother is in a bad way, or so I hear. Caught some disgusting Muggle disease that is killing her. My father told me it was from prostituting herself with a Muggle when your dearest daddy was at work. How does it feel to have a mother who is dying from being a whore? My bet is that she is gone by Christmas, how about you? Still hoping against hope that she'll suddenly get better? Who do you blame, Crouch? Her for being so vile as to willingly go to a Muggle for sex or your Father for being too repulsed to touch her?"

Barty had leapt the short distance from his seat until his hands were fixed squarely around Regulus' throat. Hermione screamed as the burly Icarus Hanley pulled Barty off Regulus and threw him into the table with equal ease. Regulus pulled himself off the ground and began kicking Barty in the ribs, hissing warnings to match Barty's yelps of pain. Hermione lifted her wand off the table and pointed it toward Regulus. One of the girls, Victoria Stafford, cast a disarming charm and Hermione's wand flew toward her harmlessly. A bigger Slytherin boy held her tightly as she struggled wildly, hoping that the other Ravenclaws would help Barty. They didn't.

The other boys began kicking Barty who struggled to get up from the foetal position on the ground. Regulus bent down beside him and dragged him to his feet by his hair. Hermione barely restrained a scream as she saw blood seep through his school shirt. Icarus held Barty tightly as Regulus punched him in the face. Crack! Nose broken. Barty screamed loudly but the noise did not penetrate the heavy breathing and taunts of Regulus. Nester, another of the Slytherin boys, had cast a silencing charm over the room and over Barty to stop a teacher being alerted. They were positive the Ravenclaws, who watched the scene with morbid fascination and hopelessness, would not act against the Slytherins out of fear.

Hermione was screaming loudly and thrashing against her captor. She dropped her weight, forcing him to bed over before pulling up sharply and hitting his nose with a loud crack. Without hesitating she cast a wandless charm, pushing the others back before leaping to where Regulus held Barty. Hermione took a deep breath before leaping onto the back of Regulus and forcing him to the ground. Barty watched her actions with a detached amazement before swinging a punch at Icarus, knocking him to the ground.

Hermione hung tightly to Regulus, hearing his strangled breathing, before she felt herself spinning through the air and landing on the ground before her with a sickening crack. She was dimly aware of him standing above her, shouting something and an intense feeling of agony coursing throughout her body. Something wet under her head also alerted her to the fact she was bleeding, a lot. _Oh God, _she thought desperately, _I'm going to die in the past. _

"_CRUCIO! Crucio! Crucio!"_

Bracing herself for the worst, Hermione was surprised to find the dimming figure of Regulus disappear entirely from her vision.

Two voices were screaming now, one in pain and one in desperation.

Slightly hunched, clutching his ribs protectively, Barty stood with his wand pointed firmly at Regulus who squirmed in pain, wailing and pleading for it to end. Barty's eyes were darker, focused entirely on the figure of Regulus below him. The intensity of his stare, the pure hatred burning in his eyes, finally stopped when he saw Hermione staring up at him with unmasked horror on her face.

* * *

A/N: The thing about Barty is his remarkable capacity for loyalty.It really is wonderful. Barty is not one to give his loyalty to just anyone but when he does, it is forever. He would do anything for that person even if it means going off the edge. The reason he did Crucio is because he was talking about it and had secretly thought about doing it before to Regulus, not because he is crazy and OMGEVIL. Haven't we all thought horrible things we'd like to do to the bullies? Barty just did it. The Ravenclaws are not helping for a reason... they really are terrified. I live in Northern Ireland so I have seen first hand the reality of life in terror, not knowing who to trust and who to talk to just in case they are 'connected' which means your family ends up dead. The Ravenclaws know the Slytherins are 'connected' and so will not act for fear, simply. It is sad but true that when worst comes to worst, people will only be concerned with themselves and their loved ones. Danger, danger, danger...

Next time: Consquences, Slytherin intervention, the downfall, the manipulation and a letter from home.


End file.
